Heaven
by Tinuel
Summary: A single chandelier crash set fire to a chain of events in Meg Giry's life. With friends and family gone, Meg seeks for sanctuary in the last person she'd expect to actually provide it. -Temporary Hiatus-
1. Call on darkness

**A/N: My second fanfic ever written, but my first Phantom :)**

**Sort've excited, sort've nervous.**

**This is an E/M story :) Love it! **

**This one is goin' out into the world without a proofreader.**

**Wish it luck!  
**

**Disclaimer: Original Phantom Characters don't belong to me.**

Flames consumed the interior of the opera house, smoke and fire billowing from broken down doors and shattered windows. Madame Giry had stood outside the theatre, with her arms wrapped protectively around Meg. Meg watched in silence, tears streaking her cheeks as she clung to the ivory mask hidden beneath her blouse. "Mama," Meg's whisper broke the silence between the two as she laid her head against her mothers shoulder, "What do we do? Where will we go?" She asked quietly, clenching her teeth to contain the sobs that thickened in her throat.

Madame Giry just forced a smile, stroking her daughters face soothingly. She never responded, and Meg didn't force the answer from her. The heavy snowfall did not ease their suffering as they watched a section of the roof collapse, the frigid winds adding to the chills that already coursed through their bodies.

Four years later, Meg Giry still found herself called to Paris, France. She often wished to leave the past behind, but she felt too strongly to simply let it die. Winter was dangerously close, but she did her best to pay the cold no mind.

The empty streets held an ominous quiet, only the shuffling footsteps of one wandering figure breaking the silence of the night. Walking alongside the inactive road, she only had the moonlight to guide her. Dirt clung to the blue gown, adding to its vile appearance. The wrinkles and ripped cloth provided little warmth against the cold breeze; the blonde's thin body shivering from the cold.

Teeth clattering as she slowed in her walk, eyes fixated on the monumental building across the road, its doors broken down. Shattered windows remained black from the flames that had long ago torn the building apart. The Opera House, which once served as her only home, was still standing - despite its broken down appearance.

Meg knew it was illogical to stay in the small city that offered her nothing. Her mother had passed away, her friends had deserted her, and there was no longer a stage for her to dance upon, but still she remained in this town with hopes that her sweet memories of the past would eventually collide her future. There was _nothing_ left to cling to but that small hope.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle." A dark voice purred from the shadows of the alleyway behind the blonde. She turned sharply, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. A tall man was leaned against the wall of the old, abandoned bakery. His lustful gaze searched over her trembling body before meeting with her green eyes, a half smile curling on his pursed lips.

"Monsieur." Meg nodded her head with respect before continuing on her meaningless walk.

"Enjoying a walk?" The man's voice called out again, but she merely glanced at him over her shoulder without a verbal response. "Aye, What's the rush?" He asked, quickly following after the lone woman.

"Please, sir, I'll just be on my way." Meg sighed, keeping her back to him as her steps rapidly increased.

"A lady, such as yourself, shouldn't be out here all a-"

"That's lovely." Her words cut him off quickly, teeth bared tightly as her legs brought her to a run. He caught her effortlessly, winding a thick arm around her stomach.

"Let's talk." The man laughed mockingly as she squirmed in his arms. Shoulders jerking forward and legs kicking at the air, Meg tried desperately to break herself free, but no screams were ever sounded. "Come on, pigeon." He nuzzled into her hair as he drug her across the empty street. Her face scrunched in disgust at his thick stench of alcohol and body odor, a small animalistic growl rumbling from her throat. Her legs continued to flail in hope to throw him off balance, but the man continued dragging her towards a building. Lifting her gaze, green eyes locked on the building he obviously intended to drag her into. Her stage - her sanctuary, and her home. Meg couldn't help but laugh quietly, despite the tears that filled her eyes.

"That's it. See, it'll be fun." The man smiled, guiding her through the wooden door that hung loosely from a single hinge.

Meg grimaced at his words, "Let me go, sir." She warned through grinding teeth, a hand reaching out to grab at the door, but her ripped her away easily.

"There'll be no talk of that." A hand swatted her rear, and Meg jumped slightly with a yelp. He tightened his grip around her waist, lifting her light body fully into his arms to cradle her. "I see," He gave a sly smile, revealing yellow-coated teeth "Not a screamer?"

A single tear rolled down her cheek, and the feeling only further infuriated the blonde. "Let me go." She repeated with a growl, thrashing in his arms until her elbow brutally collided with his throat. Breath hitched in his throat, he desperately tried to force out air. His grip loosened so he could massage at his adams apple, and she didn't hesitate to shake herself free. Running up the curved steps, Meg tried to regain her own breaths, stumbling every few steps. She tried not to allow this to slow her, fingers gliding the steps surfaces so she never fully lost her balance. He immediately followed, maniacal laughter growing louder as he drew closer.

When his long fingers wound around Meg's arm, a freehand swung back and struck his cheek. He seemed unfazed by the slap, simply pulling her small body towards him. "Why the fuss, pigeon?" Plaque layered and uneven teeth were unmasked again when he grinned widely at the struggling blonde, wrapping both arms around her waist and pressing her against him.

Meg allowed herself to go limp, collapsing fully within his grasp as her head fell against his chest. "Don't be wearin' yourself out. Long night ahead." He whispered softly, lips brushing against her ear. Her dry lips curled into a sly smirk as she remained hidden in his chest, small fists clenching tightly. Releasing her waist, dirt covered hands held her face. She instantly scowled as his lips forcefully met hers. Trying to pull away caused him to grab at her hair, holding her face against his. Her tight fists began to tremble with anger; her nails piercing through the skin of her palms while malicious thoughts flooded her mind.

When her lips parted he took the moment, as though it were an invitation, to slip his tongue past, the foul taste of liquor increasing. His assumptions were proven mistaken with her teeth clamped around his lower lip and the back of his tongue awkwardly. He threw her back viciously, slamming her back against the stair railing. "Damn you! You little whore!" His voice echoed throughout the opera house. When Meg reached for him with a soft smile, he stepped back in confusion.

As she placed her hands on his shoulders gently, his thick eyebrows scrunched together. "Monsieur?" Meg's angelic voice seemed to captivate him as his brown eyes watched the title slip past her lips provocatively. Without a second more of hesitation, Meg had lifted her knee, the bone ground against his groin instantly. The man's eyes widened, a guttural groan escaping him as he slowly sank to the floor. "Good evening." She nodded, blonde curls bouncing when she turned about quickly and ascended the last of the stairs.

"Little bitch!" He squeakily screamed after her, but remained hunched over in pain with his hands cupped over his lap. She hurried into the first bedroom she'd come across, slamming the door behind her. Leaning against the door, her hands finally wiped at her mouth with disgust.

"Pig." She muttered breathlessly. As her eyes wandered the room, to the overturned dressers and a shattered bookshelf, they widened when she found the large mirror shattered. Staring into the darkness of the passageway, memories returned to the woman.

_- She slipped through the crevice in the wall with ease, eyes searching the darkness hopelessly. "Christine?" She whispered into the shadows, hands gliding across the cold stone. Her mother had ripped her from the darkness before she'd found her friend, or the 'Opera Ghost' that plagued every conversation within these walls. _

_Again she'd ventured into the darkness, again in search for Christine. She'd made it through his underground labyrinth by chance, running frantically in hopes to beat the frenzied mob following not too far behind._

_A white mask caught her eyes – deserted on a small wooden case. Meg frowned as she touched the masks cold surface, fingers softly tracing it. "We've found them," A mans voice echoed behind her. "The Vicomte and Ms. Daae." He finished as Meg turned around to listen to the men conversing. "They've taken a boat."_

_She watched a scarlet curtain near her swaying slightly, as though recently disturbed. She bit her lip curiously, but ignored her urges. "Where were they going?" Meg asked softly. Two men glanced over at Meg, one's eyebrows scrunched together to wrinkle his forehead, while the other seemed to laugh softly. "What are you mumbling about, stupid girl?" They laughed back at her. Meg only sighed, allowing her green eyes to scan over the gloomy labyrinth._

"_He's not here." A man growled in annoyance, ripping down ebony curtains in a fit of fury. Inside, a certain blonde smirked at their attempts. _

"_Just take what you can." Another sounded from the distance._

_Meg glared coldly at the group as they tore curtains and smashed furniture; and as they were busy pillaging what they could, Meg Giry clutched the ivory mask to her chest and slipped away into the darkness. -_

Meg silently crept through the opening, just as she had four years ago. Darkness still hung within the tunnel, and she used to her hands to travel as her eyes. The passage was blocked, the walls ahead having crumbled down. Meg shrieked softly as a plump rat brushed against her foot before it vanished beneath the massive stones. Meg pushed at the boulders for a moment before sighing heavily. The stones wouldn't budge – not from the strength of a ballerina, so she made her way back into the light of the room. She cracked open the bedroom door first, watching cautiously for signs of the man following her. With no other persons in sight, she slowly pulled the door open further and peered out into the hall. He moved towards her from the shadows instantly, a wicked smile played upon his face. A scream finally passed her lips, despite all her previous attempts to hold them back.

"My screamer!" He laughed, holding the bedroom door open with his hand when she tried to slam it shut. She pushed against the door with her shoulder, tears blurring her vision as he began pushing it open further.

She threw more weight into her shoulder, crushing the man's fingers between the door and wall. Meg didn't allow the pressure to weaken, keeping her weight fully pressed against the door as she heard bones crunching quietly. Her teary eyes closed tightly, small cries passing her lips as she fought to keep the door from opening. When the door pushed open slightly, Meg pressed her back against it and dug her heels into the floor to push it back. The man's fingers slipped out and the door finally slammed shut. Meg fumbled with the handle, locking the door with trembling hands. Back still firm against the wood, she slid to the floor with a whimper.

Fists pounded against the door, and her body shook with each vibration of strikes. "Christine once spoke of an angel," She whispered through cries, "And, God, I wish he could appear. It's silly to call on the darkness..." Meg seemed to be praying, resting her forehead on her knees as she stilled her trembling body. The man's vulgar shouts remained, but she was so lost within her thoughts they seemed nonexistent. "But I need him here." She rested her head back against the door, eyelids slowly lifting.

"You can't hide forever!" The man shouted, still pounding against the door. Meg smirked faintly, wiping the tears from her cheeks gently.

"Here in this room I'm at your mercy. Sitting alone, hiding." Her voice softly called to the empty room, eyes moving to the crevice that once led to his 'lair'. "Now, all my words plead for safety. Angel of Darkness, guide me."

"I'll guide you, little whore." The man spat angrily, another pound shaking the door slightly.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes." A voice whispered, causing Meg to turn about sharply to face the closed door. Minutes of silence passed; no fist thundering at the door, no shouts and grunts. Slowly, her body began to relax. Frightened trembles weakened to her usual shivers, Meg's eyelids slowly began to close. She'd fallen into a deep slumber, curled protectively against the door.

**Taa-daa! There's the first chapter :) **

**As you can see…this is Meg's story. Well, Erik's too…**

**But for the first few chapters, its the dancers turn in the spotlight. **

**I have most of this story thought out, including having already completely written ending and epilogue...but the characters haven't exactly revealed every little trial they go through yet. (A true writer should understand that previous comment). Therefor..  
**

**Reviews are encouraged. As my first Phantom, I deeply want to know the readers thoughts on the direction this takes.**


	2. Your Shelter

**Special thanks to all my reviewers:) Hope you all enjoy the second chapter, too.  
**

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, Violets are blue. I could claim the Phantom…but then I'd get sued. I don't take credit – so don't take my cash. The dancers' not mine, nor the man and his mask.  
**

**_Let me be your shelter.. - P.O.T.O_  
**

**- - -  
**

When her stomach twisted within, Meg slowly broke away from her dreams. Rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes, she murmured quietly to herself. Pulling herself onto her feet, she pressed her ear to the door, listening carefully for any activity outside it. She wasn't sure how long she'd fallen asleep, but her body felt it'd rested many good hours. Drawing in a nervous breath, she slowly unlocked the door. When it click, she cringed slightly in worry, immediately pressing her hands against the door as though he was already trying to force his way in.

Silence remained, and she twisted the doorknob with a shaky hand. _'Please, oh please' _her mind whispered, breath still held in her lungs as she slowly pulled the door open. Chewing on her bottom lip nervously, she allowed it to fully open. Stepping into the hallway, no one greeted her; which she found comforting.

Releasing her long held breath as a relieved sigh, Meg hurried down the empty hall and into her old bedroom. She silently shut the door, another sigh easing her nerves as she locked it. She frowned sadly at her pillaged room, bedcovers torn and pillow feathers scattered across the floor. The burnt remains of her dresser overturned, all of the small accessories once set carefully upon it sprawled around her feet. Kneeling on the burnt carpet slowly, Meg's fingers brushed over a small porcelain ballerina that had once spun gracefully in a wooden jewelry box. Only one arm remained, however, over the dolls head as the other arm had apparently snapped off. Meg smiled sadly, averting her eyes away from the items and searching the rest of the room. Her mirror, too, was shattered, and behind it a small opening in the wall. Immediately she was on her feet, pulling the rest of the broken mirror from the wall and tossing it aside. The thought of returning brought a smile to her face, and she willing slipped through the narrow opening. Why she was drawn to it was unclear in her mind, but her feet hurried down the winding tunnels, one hand caressing the walls as she wandered through shadows. Hours seemed to pass with the blonde seeming to find only more and more turns, her mind spinning in confusion which each decision of direction laid before her. Still, she continued on at a fast pace, panted breaths coming at a rapid pace. Her judgment fought against her actions, battling with her on the reasons of why she continued this precarious trip.

If the Opera Ghost was there, surely he'd not be kind to an intruder. _'He's insane,'_ her minds whispers reminded her, _'A murderer._' They continued. Meg whined quietly at the thoughts, as she knew full well the chances she took by going forward. _'He tried to kill Raoul, why wouldn't he try to kill me?'_ but her strides remained driven at the thought of seeing him. With the chance of him not being present, she'd have the entire 'lair' to herself. A hiding place and shelter for warmth both appealed to her now, and the thought only intensified when she reached the short stair that led to water_. 'I've made it.'_ She smiled proudly, watching her reflection upon the still waters. Stepping into the waters, a chill immediately ran up her spine and goose-bumps prickling along her skin. She shivered violently, the thin fabric providing no warmth from the frigid waters. "I can't turn back." She reminded her aloud, entering deeper waters. _'There's nowhere else to go.' _The waters now came to her waist, and her entire body was trembling with cold. When the ground beneath her feet dipped suddenly, she stumbled and fell beneath the dark waters. Resurfacing, the dirty waters were coughed from her lungs and spat out in disgust. Her feet could no longer make contact with the sands, so she swam down the waters passage with teeth clattering. When the shore came into view, her feet glided across the sands. Blonde ringlets, drooped from the water, clung to her face and neck as she walked through the waters quickly. The wet gown stuck uncomfortably to her body and, however exposing her curvy physique, it loathingly revealed her bony ribcage.

Standing on the dry shore, her hands bundled by the blue cloth and rang out vast amounts of the thick, dirty liquid she'd been submerged in. Her eyes had adjusted slightly to the darkness, and a single lit torch provided cast dim light across her surroundings. Meg ignored most of the architecture, having experiences the sights once before. She walked slowly across the dry land, tilting her head as her fingers shook away droplets from the blonde hair. Stepping over random unlit torches and broken candles, Meg seemed uninterested in the artifacts around her and simply kicked some of the items aside. When a faint voice echoed throughout the cavern, she stopped in her tracks, not wishing the shuffling of her footsteps to disturb the soft whispers of singing.

"Her eyes were like the winter when she goes" The soft notes echoed against the sculpted walls of the cavern. Meg, though her expressions were hidden by the darkness, found herself smiling sweetly at the sound of his voice. "Holding secrets only winter knows...winter knows.." The voice paused sadly, but as softly as the words broke away, they found her again "Winter knows.." The phantoms voice cracked, the last note escaping as a mournful whisper. Meg frowned at the different emotion, her body moving blindly towards the voice. A ripping noise had sounded in the darkness and a dark, frustrated growl caused her to jump slightly. The shadows moved behind her, but before the blonde could turn her body around, gloved fingers entangled themselves within her wet hair. Her head was pulled back violently, resting it against a bare chest.

"Why?" His dark voice spat angrily, his fist tightening as he yanked at her hair. "Why have you come here?"

"I'm sorry, Monsieur", Meg whimpered, leaning back to attempt relieve her scalp from his pulling. "I thought," She hesitated, "I thought it was deserted." She winced as he tugged her head back further.

"Get out of my theatre." He snarled, throwing her body carelessly to the stone floor before his feet. She ground her teeth as she skid shortly across the hard surface, the flesh of her knees scraped away. Shuffling towards the water, she kept her eyes warily upon him. The dim light fell across the phantoms face, and her brows scrunched in confusion at the skull-like mask concealing him.

"Your mask." She stated in surprise, seeming fixated by the different appearance. 'From the masquerade' her memory recalled. 'But why?' Meg sat in silence before laughing shortly. She'd taken his mask before, the matter of _why_ he wore the black mask was clear.

His lips parted, but the harsh words that had formed within his mind faded away. His face twisted clearly in confusion, and a step away from her gave the illusion of him debating retreat. "Little Giry?" His eyes scanned her body from her wet hair to her small feet that were tucked beneath her as she sat on the ground.

"Meg." She whispered back shortly after, turning away slightly to hide herself from his stare. "I prefer to be called th-"

"What are you doing down here?" The angry tone cut off her sentence, confused expression once again manipulated to rage. She frowned at his tone, lowering her head in defeat as though she were a child being scolded.

"I'm sorry."

"You must leave." He repeated, grinding his teeth as he walked towards her. Meg shuffled across the ground away from him, falling backwards into the cold water.

"I didn't think…you," She stood within the waters, one foot behind her to aid in a quick retreat. "What are _you_ doing here?" Her hands were pressed to her hips.

"This is _my_ opera house." He growled, grabbing her arm roughly and moving her towards the boat. "Surely you've learned that by now. Has you're mother taught you nothing?" Her body didn't stiffen within his grasp, and she fell into the boat without complaint.

"My mother is dead." She glared coldly, sitting up carefully in the boat.

He seemed to stumble forward, despite his once motionless posture that stood beside the boat.

"De-," He exhaled quickly, "What do you mean?" He stumbled over his words, leather crinkling as his hands called into fists.

"I mean she's dead. Gone." She replied bitterly, "People get old. They get sick and they die." She finished, pushing away the wet hair that clung to her face.

"Dead?" His voice cracked, the phantom stumbling backwards to move within the shadows.

"What does it matter?" Meg grumbled, looking away from him as she tried to keep herself calm.

"Go home." A whisper sounded, and she lifted her head at the sound of shuffling feet retreating from the shore.

"Monsieur?" She called in confusion, leaning over the edge of the wooden boat. When he offered no response, Meg left the boat behind to follow his footsteps. "Where are you going?" But again, only silence. She found him kneeling beside a broken mirror, hands bracing the earth as he hunched over. When she stood behind him, watching silently, he turned about violently and stood before her.

"Get out!" He screamed, his enraged visage merely inches apart from hers. She flinched at his tone, but she fought against the urge to run. Soft red shading colored his blue eyes, and Meg's widened eyes seemed to soften.

"You couldn't possibly care." She whispered in disbelief, shaking her head at him.

"Please, little Giry, just leave me in peace." His shoulder pushed back hers when he roughly brushed past. It took less than a second for her to react, turning quickly and grabbing his cape.

"You're him. The boy mother told me about!" He froze in mid step, keeping his back turned to her. "You are." She gasped, letting the cape slip from her fingers.

"Go home." He sighed quietly, glancing over his shoulder. Meg ignored his request, slowly moving around him until their eyes met.

"That's why. That's why mother was never afraid of you." She blurted with a faint smile, her eyes moving to his black mask. Mislead by the smile, his hands wrapped about her throat violently.

"Do you find me amusing, child?" A shiver ran down her spine at his anger, hands desperately gripping his own to try and pry them from her throat. "She saved my life, and I've spared yours once. My debt was repaid. So amuse me with a reason to spare you again." Thin lips smirked, grip tightening.

Her mouth opened, but her only response was a gurgle. He laughed softly at the choke, and again he tossed her aside. She stumbled forward, but easily regained composure. "So this is where she hid you?" She mumbled, continuing as though he'd never interrupted.

The phantom growled in annoyance, muscles tensing as his mind battled itself. Killing Meg would be elementary: her neck easily snapped or her breath stolen away by his simple lasso. But with her as Madame Giry's daughter, having the _will_ to do was more complicated.

"Did you stay here?" Meg asked, turning back towards the boat.

"Its my theatre." He sighed out a response.

"You grew up in a place like this?" She frowned.

"Do not insult my-"

"Home. I get it." Meg forced a smile to her face, which his words caused to falter.

"You're not welcome here, Little Giry."

"And my mother was?" An eyebrow arched in question. He felt no need to reply, and his hands pushed her back towards the sandy shore. With a groan, she allowed his shoves to guide her. As he pushed her back into the boat, Meg's curiosity slipped off her tongue. "Were you lovers?"

His head snapped up sharply, face lingering between shock and disgust. His puzzled eyes searched her face, trying to detect if it were a serious question. Meg sat with a blank expression, having bravely meant the words she uttered. "…Madame Giry?" The phantom asked with a slight smile.

"Yes." She nodded slightly, pushing her blonde hair behind her ears. His smile broadened. At first a small chuckle escaped him, his eyes locking with hers. The laughter grew louder, echoing through the concrete and stone tunnels. "What are you laughing at?" She grumbled, vacant expressions turning with frustration.

Another laugh was belted from him as he stared at her, shaking his head slightly before he bent over slightly. The laughter eventually died when he returned his attention to the small boat, hands gripping the wood tightly, but small chuckles remained. "So Christine was the fir-" A hand gripped her throat tightly, fingernails digging into her flesh. He exchanged no words, breathes becoming heavier as he ground his teeth. The strength within his grasp and the fury in his eyes kept her silent, and she nodded her best against his hand in understanding. He released her quickly, returning his hands to the wooden boat.

Meg took a moment to regain her breath, silently battling herself for composure. "That wasn't my place to ask." Meg admitted in a low whisper, keeping her gaze away from a moment "So you and my mother were just," she hesitated, still rubbing at the small cuts his nails engraved upon her neck, "friends?"

His eyes shifted towards her again, his head cocked to the side slightly. Blue eyes rolling, they focused back on the darkness. What on earth was with this child? So persistent and stubborn…

"You're far too much like your mother," Erik groaned out quietly, "No. We weren't friends." Meg stared in confusion, and her silence was answered by his continuing.

"She raised me, in a way." The phantom looked up at her, body tensing as his caution rose.

"The relationship was more motherly then?" Meg smiled faintly, her hands falling back into her lap.

"Not exactly."

"But did she visit you?" Meg's questions continued

"Sometimes." His face was emotionless as he responded, the muscles of his arms hardening as he pushed the boat from the land. Meg's green eyes wandered to his arms, and a shadow of a smirk brightened her features. When the boat drifted atop the smooth waters, the phantom stepped within.

"Did she come often?" Meg asked, averting her gaze from his arms and refocusing upon the blue eyes behind the ebony mask.

"Every few months," His wide shoulders fell in a defeated shrug. He broke their stare, dipping the long ore into the waters. "Unless I summoned sooner."

"Weren't yo-" Again he stopped her sentence, words whispered darkly.

"Enough questions."

Meg sighed, wrapping her arms around her bloody knees as she turned away. Her eyes watched her reflection upon the dark waters, silence thickening around them.

He guided the boat down the dark winding waterway, occasionally sparing a quick glance in Meg's direction. No words were exchanged, even as the boat resettled by the stairway. "Come." He finally whispered, grabbing her arm roughly and leading her up the stairs. She jerked her arm away as they wandered up the stairs, glaring at him in silence.

He kept behind her, occasionally giving a soft shove to keep her pace from slowing down. When she looked back over her shoulder, a gloved hand roughly turned her face away. "Are you in a hurry to return to your solitude?" Meg snickered, fingers trailing the walls she walked.

"You don't belong here," He grumbled, pushing her forward again. "Mustn't keep your precious 'Christine' worrying." Her name upon his tongue brought distaste to the phantom, the words forced out with hatred.

"No," Meg whispered sadly, keeping her gaze on the stairs ahead. "I suppose we shouldn't." She lied, giving a nod.

As he leaned forward, the mask brushing against her cheek, Meg flinched instinctively "Heed my words, child." The phantom whispered a warning, "You will never speak of our meeting. The opera ghost is no longer." She almost turned her head, but the closeness of him quickly altered her thoughts. "This theatre no longer welcomes your presence. You will _not_ return here." He regained his posture, a hand upon the small of her back pushing her towards the opening in the wall. "Should you forget this warning, Little Giry..."

Meg sighed, slipping through the wall quickly. "Meg." She replied sharply, looking back at him. He seemed to smile, one hand gripping the edge of his cloak.

Throwing it back gracefully, a mocked bow was offered. "Use your imagination, if it keeps you away." As his back straightened, they're eyes met for a last second before he vanished from sight.

Meg stared into the shadows, emotion vacant from her pale face. "Unwelcome. I get it." With another sigh and a quick roll of her green eyes, she turned away and moved towards the small bed. She had returned aboveground in worse conditions than having left for the tunnels. Her body ached from cuts and strained muscles, her stomach remained empty, and her now soaked clothes added to the chill. She nestled beneath the thick covers, pulling them to her chin for warmth. Snuggling into the torn and dusty pillow, she laid there fully awake for multiple minutes. Hundreds of questions stormed her mind, until finally sleep had claimed her.

**- - -**

**And there he is! And there he goes. Haha. Have no fear! He'll be back, friends. Meanwhile, you should review! It makes me purr.**

**p.s: Eh. Yeah. You'll occasionally read he has blue eyes if I mention any color :-p I know, I know. Book says yellow. I know. But my phantom says steely blue **

**Meg's are green. In honor of my friend, Storm (real life name. Isn't it beautiful?) I worked my butt off to convert her over to Erik/Meg, and when I succeeded I dubbed Meg with her eyes. (Did the book even mention an eye color for Meg? Don't recall.)**

**If you flame me for it…Okay. Waste your time ranting about eyeballs. **

**Meanwhile! Review!! **

_Her eyes were like the winter when she goes  
Holding secrets only winter knows  
And winter knows, winter knows  
Winter sees the wolves in women's clothes __((Betrayal - by Switchfoot/Nickelcreek))  
_


	3. Walk Alone

**I really am sorry for the wait. Life took some…unexpected turns. But alas, I've pulled myself back from my little corner :)**

**This isn't the longest chapter…but I hope it's enough to feed you for a little while.**

**Disclaimer:_ Hey diddle, diddle. Come play on that fiddle – while I clear up what might be a blur. This plot was by me, I've done this for free. But Phantom is by Andrew Webber. ((And Gaston. But Webber fit better)) ((Means I don't own this.))_**

_Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
'Til then I walk alone - - _Greenday**  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -**

Meg's sleep remained undisturbed, and when her well-regenerated body finally rose she straightened out the blankets with a smile. Standing in the doorway, Meg's green eyes scanned each small detail of her old bedroom before she would turn and leave the room for the last time. Her eyebrows pressed together as she battled with a frown and smile, and finally the memory was left behind her to gather its dust all over again.

It was then, as Meg Giry was strolling down the winding stairs, did she stumble backwards. She fell back against the steps, a loud scream piercing the silence that lingered within the broken-down theatre. A rope was tied tightly to the stairs wooden railing, and her previous attackers body dangled from it lifelessly. A hand pressed against her chest, her shrill shriek died into soft sobs. Her body trembling with fright, it took several minutes for Meg to regain elegant composure. Meg knew the man deserved his fate…she even felt herself relieved at knowing his death, but the sight of a murder chilled her blood. Her heart continued pounding in her chest and questions tormented her mind. '_Who_?' Well, that was simple for her to answer. '_Why_?' She sat for many moments, passing an occasional glance to the man's blue face. Because he deserved it? Because he disturbed the Phantom's peace? '_No_,' She assumed, '_Because I called on Him…I asked_.'

The sun was just beginning to rise, still low in the heavens as Meg hurried down the stairs outside the theatre house. Her hair was unbrushed and matted, but the blonde curls continued to bounce around her shoulders with each descending step.

The fear and guilt was overwhelming, but she fought to keep a calm and pleasant smile. She wasn't to blame for his death. Trying to push the sight from her mind, Meg's theatrical skills came to a test. She saw nothing.

Humming softly to herself as she wandered the waking streets, eyes watching the thin streaks of colors that illuminated within the heavens. Focusing on the vibrant vermilion and lavender colors radiating from thin clouds, Meg brought a smile to her lips. Beginning the day as every other: with a high spirit in the hope one might end differently. The beginning and closings to her days were always the same, minus a rather drastic occurrence this morning..

When the sun resettled in the horizon, darkness engulfing the city for another long night, Meg was huddled in an alleyway. Her back pressed a concrete wall, she held

her knees to her chest. She clutched her stomach with a groan, trying to gain control over the stirring nausea from hunger and to still her bodies shivers from the cold. Her face lacked any coloration, even her eyes seeming to loose their bubbly sparkle as her stomach continued it's twisting.

The starved feeling wasn't new to Meg; she'd gone without food frequently after her mother passed away.

"S'cuse me, Miss?" A mans voice called out softly from the sidewalks. Meg paid him no attention, resting her forehead on her knees as she waited for him to loose interest.

"Go away." The blonde sighed as she closed her eyes.

"You alright?" He'd asked, taking a single step towards her.

"Leave me be, Monsieur." Meg replied quietly, clutching her stomach tighter as a soft grumble bellowed within.

The man hesitated, taking another slow step towards the alley. "I'm sorry to disturb you, truly, but it's not safe." He tried to keep his voice soft, standing a small distance away from her to avoid alarming her.

"Not safe." She snickered beneath her breath, lifting her head to look at him. "And _you_ are?"

He smiled gently, kneeling near the sidewalk to keep eyelevel with her. "I'm just doing my job."

Meg noted his black apparel, from the black cap on his head, the gold buttons running down his torso, the short cape hanging from his shoulders, and a thick rod secured to his belt. She groaned at the sight of him, rolling her eyes before she stood back on her feet. "I'm going. I'm going." She sighed, moving from the alleyway and towards the street.

"You shouldn't wander, Madame. Streets here aren't safe anymore." He reminded her lightly when she sidestepped around him and made her way to the edge of the road.

"Oui, Monsieur." Meg tried to flash him a smile, hurrying down the streets.

"Be careful." She heard him call from the distance, and with her back still turned to him to gave a quick wave.

- - - - -

A man's soft hand caressed the underneath of her chin, and Meg soft smile matched his own. "It's hard, I know. Just take care of yourself." The old baker spoke kindly. "You keep your head up, Meg." The man had nodded before handing her the two loafs of bread, wrapped tightly in white cloth.

"I do my best, Monsieur." The blonde clutched the food to her chest with another warm smile before she spun about and left his home, returning to the empty streets.

"Poor child," She heard him sigh in the distance, "I wish you were here for her, Madame Giry."

Meg unknowingly cringed at his words, closing her eyes for a moment to restrict the tears that long to swell up at the mention of her mother. She fought them back easily, and when she reopened her eyes she found a man walking at her side.

"Bonjour, my lady." He smiled as he tucked his hands into the small pockets of his navy blue dress coat, the thin mustache curled upon his upper lip with his smile.

"Good day." She replied back simply, turning quickly to change the direction of her path.

"Don't be frightened," The man held his smile, spinning in place to quickly follow behind. "I'm most gentle, I assure you." She heard him chuckle.

Meg turned her head sharply, mouth parted slightly in disgust.

"I pay well." The man remarked openly.

"I beg your pardon?" Meg asked, obviously displeased by his suggestion.

"Believe me, little one. I can match any price." His head was bowed politely, but she found no respect behind his words.

"You've made a foolish mistake, Monsieur." Meg glared, "And I'm insulted by your disgusting approach." She continued her walk, balling her small hands into fists. He was immediately at her side, his arm brushing against hers as they walked.

"Everyone has a price, Mademoiselle." The man now whispered.

"Do not follow me, sir." Meg whispered back, keeping her gaze ahead and avoiding his presence. He grabbed her arm quickly, jerking them to a stop. While he did disrupt her steps, the grip upon her arm wasn't painful.

"A simple price." Meg twisted in place, striking his face to physically show disapproval to his propositions. He stood there in shock when she strode away, rubbing his cheek in silence. "Everyone," He whispered darkly to himself, "Has a price."

- - - - -

Meg walked down the down streets, pressing the last bite of bread onto her tongue and savoring the taste for a moment before chewing it. The last of her food was eaten, but it had lasted her a good week.

"Mademoiselle," A familiar voice called from behind. Meg turned around quickly, lifting her hands instinctively to protect herself. "We meet again." The officer smiled graciously.

"Oh…good evening, sir." Meg looked puzzled, lowering her hands slowly.

"You look troubled." "Tired." She corrected quickly.

"Well, don't let me stop you from returning home. It's a cold night."

"Yes. Well, good evening." She nodded before moving onward rather quickly to continue down the street blindly. Footsteps shuffled behind Meg, and she groaned softly at the sound.

"Might I ask why you wander the streets so many nights?"

"I've done nothing wrong, Monsieur." Meg had sighed, continuing ahead.

"I'm keepin' the streets clean, ma'm. We don't need whor-" She'd immediately turned against him, her face inches from his own.

Green eyes darkened with rage, her voice rose in intensity despite their closeness. "You will not imply such things towards me!"

"I beg your pardon, miss." He removed his hat civilly, bowing his head shortly.

Meg grumbled to herself as she crossed the street, shaking her head steadily.

"Mademoiselle?" The policeman called, hesitating shortly before he slowly followed.

"Please leave me be." She muttered back, quickening her pace.

"Do you even have anywhere to go?" His question caused her to smirk, but her face remained hidden as he followed behind.

"Of course I do, Monsieur." Meg lied easily. He twirled about her, his body suddenly blocking her path. "Move aside, sir. I'm too tired for games."

"Please," He sighed, "Let me buy you a meal. One meal. You look awful."

Meg murmured beneath her breath, trying to move around him. "One meal. Please, Mademoiselle. As an apology?"

"No thank you, Monsieur. I'm tired." She sidestepped around him, and moved along the streets quickly. The officer just watched her movements in silence, one hand resting on his hip.

'.._You're a strange one_.'

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**I know…not much happening in this chapter. But it is actually a comfortable place to pause. Don't be afraid to review! I love reviews. I thrive for your thoughts.**

**And now, I'll thank all my reviewers! Bizzie, phantomluver, MJ, CountOrlok,**

**Dragonheart: Stick with meh, buddy :) **

**Silenttigress: Yay! I really hope I drag you into enjoying this pairing , **

**Ghostly: Yeah. I apologize for the wait )**


	4. Goin' Down Swinging

**I know. You've all been waiting .. I'm sorry. I've been waiting for over two months to find someone who'd translate a few sentences into French for me. However, I never did. I knew I couldn't make my readers wait much longer, so I simply changed that section into French. **

"_Sugar, we're goin' down swinging." Fall Out Boy_

- - - - - - - -

Meg sat outside the old Opera Populiare, her body hidden as she sat beside the massive stairs with her knees pressed against her chest. A giggling woman leading a chubby man up the stairs, who tugged suggestively at her black and red dress, drew her attention. Meg shook her head slowly, turning her eyes away in disgust. It was both saddening and sickening; more and more people were turning the abandoned theatre into nothing more than a brothel, belittling the place she had called her home. As two men hurried up the stairs minutes after the first couple vanished through the doors, Meg groaned with nauseating disapproval. Even as she pulled herself to leave her loathing and disgust behind, the woman's flirtatious laughter continued. However hard she tried to block her out, the voices rang clear.

"Two more, Monsieur?" Meg shook her head as she listened, brushing the dirt from her bare legs. "Only enough for one." There was another short laugh. "No. Only one tonight." The sound of scampering feet was heard, and the soft rumble of a man's laugh; but it was a short and muffled scream that caused Meg's head to snap up.

"Monsieur!" The woman's scream tugged at Meg, willing her to rush those cautious steps the blonde was taking up the stairs. She hesitated when there was a short silence. "Let go!" Biting her lip nervously, Meg raced up the stairs towards the doors. "Monsieur, please!" The woman's voice cracked with sobs. Meg nearly stumbled when she rushed through the broken down doors. "Please.." The woman pleaded, lying at the bottom of the stairs, her dress already torn apart as three men held her down. Meg bent over quickly, grabbing a thick torch that rested near her feet.

"Get off her!" Meg finally shouted as she ran towards them, and one of the men turned around quickly, a dirty hand holding up a small knife.

"Well, look what we got here." The man smiled, ignoring the whore as she slapped at his bearded face. He released her hips, now moving towards Meg.

"Release her!" Meg shrieked at the last two men, looking past the one who drew dangerously close.

"Two in one, eh?" The chubby one snickered, kneeling between the prostitute's knees. "You go on. I got this one." He nodded to the bare-chested man who held down the woman's shoulders.

The man responded quickly, fighting with his belt as he stood to move beside his friend, the two now placed only a few feet from Meg. The armed man lunged at Meg quickly, the silver blade was directed in slashing motion towards her stomach, but he narrowly missed. The man staggered forward when his blade barely grazed over the fabric of her dress.

The man responded quickly, fighting with his belt as he stood to move beside his friend, the two now lurking only a few feet from Meg. "S-stay back…" Meg fumbled over her words as her hands began to faintly tremble. Her fingers tightened; the wood hovering over her shoulder as her second warning. Neither warning was taken seriously, and the man lunged towards her.

Meg did not hesitate the react. The torch was quickly sent colliding into his face, and the bones of his nose crunched beneath it. She pulled the torch back over her shoulder, watching as the man's body hovered for a moment before it limply crumbled to the ground. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth, a thick puddle slowly forming around his head.

Meg looked towards the bare-chested man, who was swinging the belt loosely at his side. As she expected, he rushed towards her and swung the belt. The leather slapped her face brutally, but other than releasing a pained cry, Meg didn't hesitate to counteract his next attack. A balled fist thrust towards her face, Meg arms swung the club-like torch towards him. His fist cracked against it painfully, and for a moment Meg let her guard down. The man's other hand reached out, grabbing the torch and ripping it from her hands. She stumbled backwards, almost debating retreat as he held up the torch. He seemed to hesitate, but aggressively the torch was whipped towards her.

When the thick wood slammed into her abdomen, she heard the snapping of a rib before the pain finally coursed through her body. She tried to let out a cry, but the air was forced from her lungs. As she weakened to her knees, the man dropped his belt. Roughly grabbing a fistful of Meg's blonde hair, he jerked her close. She whined nervously, lowly trying to regain her breath. "On your knees where you belong, you little whore." The man smirked, tapping her cheek with the end of the torch.

"Is Bernard okay?" The chubby man had asked, struggling to keep the trashing woman beneath him under control.

"He'll be alright." The other replied, never moving his brown eyes off Meg, "Now, what to do with you?"

With tears dripping from her flushed cheeks, Meg pleaded for her body to steady; hoping that some idea would arise that could spare her. The only scheme that came nearly caused her to cry out in shame, but she did not allow herself to doubt its ability. A hand shot forward and gripped the man's groin with extreme pressure. The man stiffened as her nails nearly dug through the fabric of his pants, and he fell to his knees with a nervous plea.

"Non, non," The man cried out, but Meg tugged at him viciously. Her other hand grabbed the torch from his hands, and when it was free from his grasp she twisted her wrist. Tears escaped the man's eyes, and when she withdrew her hand he groaned with relief. Meg rose to her feet, and the wooden torch replaced where her hand had been painfully located. The mans eyes widened, a high pitched squeal sounding from his throat as he gripped his groin, and Meg snickered coldly when he fell to his back with a whimper.

She moved towards the stairs where the chubby man was still holding down the woman. Meg had only gone a few steps when her body hunched slightly. Each movement intensified the sharp pains, and the torment slowly overwhelmed her. Using the torch as support for her body, Meg clutched her abdomen and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. With heavy breaths, she tried to regain her strength. Straightening her body, she gave the illusion of recovery as she held the torch over her shoulder. "Get off her." The blonde growled, trying to ignore the trembles that shook through her body when pains erupted within her chest.

A soft grumble was heard, but the mans words were too soft and slurred for comprehension. Slowly rising to his feet on the steps, he pulled the prostitute up with him and held her body against his. "You came here because you want my whore?" He asked with a smirk.

A sudden cry drew both Meg and the man's attention, the half dressed man kneeling by his fallen friend's body. "He's dead!" The man had screamed furiously, a sob choking his words.

Meg kept her eyes darting from between the men, an uneasy feeling spiraling through her mind. "I didn't…mean to." Meg suddenly whispered, as though she needed to justify her actions against these men. The bare-chested man grabbed his friend's knife quickly before looking over his shoulder towards Meg.

"You killed him! You killed him, you whore!" Meg flinched at his hysteria, guilty tears beginning to gloss over her eyes. She had remembered that there was another standing behind her only when an arm was already wound around her throat. Her body was pulled against his, and she clenched her hands tightly to hold onto the club. The other woman was released, and Meg smiled weakly as she watched her hurry out the doors.

"You won't be smiling long." The man snapped as he stomped towards her, pulling his opened shirt off his body completely. Just arms-reach away from Meg, the man suddenly halted in his steps with widened eyes. When his gaze seemed to wander past them, the overweight man spun quickly, with Meg still secured in his grasp, to face the stairs. The phantom strode down the winding stairway slowly and elegantly, his long black cape concealing the scarlet steps behind him.

"It's him," The stocky man panted, taking a step back and dragging Meg with him.

The arm around her neck tightened, as did his hold around her waist.

"The opera ghost?" The other asked in a whisper, and the phantom smirked slightly.

The men took a step backwards, his body turning slightly and revealing his thoughts of retreat.

"I wouldn't." The phantom warned him simply, still descending the staircase.

The armed man seemed caught between anger and panic, his breathing becoming heavy before he finally rushed towards Meg. Carefully avoiding his friend's arm, the tip of the blade was pressed just beneath Meg's jaw line, positioned at Meg's throat.

The phantom remained silent as he continued to reduce the amount of space between him and the trio. Another smirk flashed upon his features when his foot met the last step.

"We'll kill her!" The chubby one shouted, his tightened grip pressing against Meg's ribs and forcing out a whimper.

"Do you believe that would trouble me?" The phantom asked with disinterest, eyes never once wandering towards Meg.

"We'll kill her." The other repeated, the blade now sinking into her skin slightly and drawing out a single drop of blood.

"I believe you mentioned that." He tugged the cape forward, the dark cloth matching the mask that concealed his face.

Meg was jerked backwards when the men went to withdraw from the phantom's presence. Meg cringed openly, grinding her teeth as she fought back a strong cry.

The blade was suddenly raised to her face, the blade nicking her jaw line befor the knife resettled against her cheek. "We will!" The bare-chested man shouted, but all signs of anger were easily overcome with evidence of fear.

"I care nothing for that girl's life," The phantom left the stairway; closing in the small distance they had tried to gain. "But you will not spill blood within _my_ theatre." His eyes seemed to darken when a drop of blood fell from Meg's chin and onto the front of her white dress.

"Course you don't care," The chubby one tried to undermine him, "You're a killer, too. You're a monster."

Another smirk; another step. "Indeed, monsieur." The phantom gave a slight nod.

"You _want_ her dead?!" The man then yelled back.

"I am not wielding the knife." The masked man replied quickly.

"Just give her to him," The thinner male lowered the blade, "We don't need her." The obese man refused through silence, strengthening his tight hold on Meg. When the bare-chested man stepped back, the phantom leapt towards him instantly. Meg's body flinched when he rushed past her, the leather cape brushing against her legs.

The phantom overpowered the man easily, forcing him onto his stomach while driving a knee into his back to hold him steady. Confusion and amazement fell upon Meg as a lasso was wound around the man's neck, yet she'd not even seen him withdraw it. Gurgles sounded from the strangling man, saliva dripping from his mouth as the phantom tightened the lasso further.

"Get off him!" The wide man shouted, loosening his grip around Meg slightly. A snap was heard, and the man's thrashing ended. The phantom silently slipped the rope off the man's head and rose to his feet.

"Just take her." The man cried out sadly, pushing Meg away from him. She spun about sharply, lifting the torch they must've forgotten she possessed, and swung it forward strongly. Her whimper blended with the woods sounding crack when it met the man's head.

As soon as it struck him, the man fell to his knees to with a groan, and the blonde was soon to join him. The agonizing pains forced out her strained cry, and shivers overtook her. The phantom stepped past her, tossing the rope aside before gloved hands tightly grasped the man's head. There was not a single strangle for breath or a flail from the man as the neck had snapped, and a third life was stolen away. Despite a slight disgust that churned within Meg's stomach, the swiftness of his actions was, infact, rather astounding to Meg.

Quickly tucking the lasso away, the phantom moved towards Meg in silence. She clutched her stomach in silence as she fought for slow and steady breaths. Every intake felt as though it were fire consuming her lungs and not air, and when she'd exhale her trembling only intensified.

Surprisingly, the phantom knelt before her. Meg looked to him in confusion, trying to contain her shaking as gloved fingers lifted her chin gently. It took her a moment to realize he was examining the small cut on her throat, and when he failed to comment she knew it wasn't as bad as it felt. He pulled the unlit torch from her fingers and tossed it aside. He turned away to examine the three bodies sprawled across the floor.

"I didn't mean to come," Her raspy whisper broke the silence, regaining his attention, "I'm sorry." More tears blurred her vision as she managed to lock eyes with him. "I had to help her, Monsieur."

"Who?" He asked, grabbing her arms to help her on her feet as he rose.

"The woman." She broke her stare, looking over his shoulder towards the theatres doors. The masked man snickered quietly in response, eyes narrowing mockingly.

"A partner's play session go wrong?"

Meg's forehead wrinkled slightly as she frowned in confusion, clearing missing the message behind his words. "Pardon, Monsieur?" She asked naively.

When footsteps sounded outside the Opera House, He averted his attention from her and ascended the stairs quickly. Meg held her sides weakly as she followed him, careful not to step on the cape billowing behind the Phantom. "I will not appreciate it if you've led more people, little Giry." The man growled softly, not even glancing over his shoulder to acknowledge her.

"I'd not intend to, I assure you." Meg tried to sigh, but she found her attempts of exhaling brought more pain, and the fiery sensation expanded through her entire chest. She grasped the railing to steady herself as the pain intensified, and clumsily stepped upon his cape. He obliviously continued…until the cape snagged and tightened slightly around his throat. He managed to suppress a gag, and instead turned about furiously and yanked the cloth from beneath Meg's feet.

She immediately lost her balance, her hand sliding off the railing as she fell backwards. He instinctively reached out, and Meg's arm was captured just before her back met the stairs. She dangled there awkwardly, one leg curled slightly beneath her while the other was sprawled out, resting against one of his feet. Her right hand was pressed against the stair in hopes to steady her, while her left arm was being firmly clutched. She felt herself jerked forward and pulled onto her feet, her face lingering mere inches away from his. Tugging at his cape one last time, he roughly released her arm and continued up the last of the stairs.

Meg hesitated, cradling her stomach as she watched him move into the dark halls. With a nervous bite at her lower lip, Meg's mind wandered rapidly as she battled with the decision to follow or not. A crack sounded from the entrance, and Meg saw an officer step into the theatre. When their eyes met, the 'options' became much easier to choose from. She hurried up the stairs and ignored the warnings being shouted below her. Footsteps pounded at the stairs, and Meg released an audible whine. With her heart pounding in her chest, Meg felt trembles shaking through her body again as it pleaded for more oxygen. However desperately she attempted to comply, she failed to catch her breath.

"You there!" A shout sounded behind her as Meg reached her old bedroom. "Stop!"

Meg felt herself falter as dizziness blurred her vision. She staggered forward until collapsing to her knees near her bed. When she gasped for air, the agonizing pain began to subside. Her eyelids became heavy, and a weary feeling kept her from even acknowledging the draped over her. As the shadowy figure lifted Meg from the dust-coated floor, darkness claimed her.


End file.
